And here, had you been eavesdropping outside the great man’s cell (as indeed Constable Hackett was doing) then you would have heard a terrible groan rise up from the Greatest Genius The Galaxy Had Ever Known, as he remembered how his love and affection had been focussed not on a living creature – not on a wife – not on a lover – not even on a pet snorkling! – but on an agglomeration of wires and neurons, sensors and cybernetic pathways – Titania – his last, his greatest, his absolute obsession!
‘But she loves me!’ he cried from the depths of his despair.
‘But she is not real…’ came an answering echo as his thoughts bounced off the bare cell walls. ‘You created her!’
This change that overcame Leovinus, in his Oxfordshire prison cell, would be unfortunately powerful ammunition for right-wing politicians who trumpet the beneficial effects of jail. Fortunately, however, it went totally unnoticed by anyone with political clout on Earth.
Leovinus had just reached that point of self-castigation at which he was really beginning to enjoy it, when he was rudely interrupted.
‘Visitors for you, Chang!’ said Constable Hackett. He had grown rather fond of the old fellow over the past week.
The door was flung open and the dreadful Journalist entered accompanied by an extraordinarily attractive female alien, all the more attractive for being dressed Yassaccan style, in the simple transparent shift with the single motif on the side which indicated that the wearer was unmarried and interested in proposals.
She was also wearing that fabulously expensive Yassaccan scent that was now almost unobtainable on Blerontin.
‘My dear friend!’ exclaimed Leovinus to The (surprised) Journalist. ‘You are far more worthy of freedom and happiness than I!’ It was an odd thing to say to the first Blerontinian to walk in through the door, but Leovinus, who had just been thinking he’d never get a chance to say it, said it anyway.
‘There’s not a moment to lose!’ exclaimed the remarkably attractive and remarkably available female alien. ‘We’ve only got an hour left!’
‘Have you got it?’ cried The Journalist.
‘I don’t know…’ replied Leovinus. ‘I am no longer sure what I have got and what I have not. When I look back on my life, I almost feel I have thrown it all away and I have been left with nothing. Dear lady, will you marry me?’ Leovinus knew it was considered poor manners not to propose to any young female wearing the specially patterned shift.
‘Have you got the central intelligence core? Titania’s brain!’ interposed The Journalist before Nettie could reply.
‘Ah! Alas!’ cried the great Leovinus. ‘I threw it away! I have no use for her now!’ and he turned back to Nettie. ‘Dear lady! Do you think you could ever love me?’
‘YOU CAN’T HAVE THROWN IT AWAY!’ screamed the remarkably attractive and available female alien.
‘THINK!’ yelled the dreadful Journalist. ‘Where did you throw it?’
‘What does it matter?’ Leovinus had grown a trifle maudlin. This was actually the result of the famous Yassaccan scent which the Yassaccan Prime Minister had given Nettie. Nettie had dabbed a spot on as they waited for the cell door to be opened – it was a nervous reflex prior to meeting the Greatest Genius The Galaxy Had Ever Known. What Nettie was unaware of was that one of the reasons the scent was so famous was because it had an extremely intoxicating effect on Blerontinians. This intoxication was usually so sudden and so strong that the scent had been made illegal on Blerontin, which is, of course, why it was so sought after and so fabulously expensive.
‘My dear lady! My life! How I have longed to meet someone as beautiful and intelligent as you!’
The Journalist had now grabbed Leovinus by the lapels of his prison suit. ‘WHERE IS TITANIA’S BRAIN?’ he yelled.
Leovinus was rapidly deteriorating under the powerful influence of Nettie’s scent. ‘Ha! Mr Journalisto! See one oh dee crank? Pon flee up and trick?’ Leovinus was quoting a Blerontinian nonsense rhyme that was often sung to children at bedtime.
‘Salk tense, man!’ shouted The Journalist, who had suddenly realized what kind of scent Nettie was wearing. “Svital we know where youze threw th’central telligence core – hic!’ Oh no! If he got drunk he wouldn’t be able to drive them back to the Starship!